Well, summer continues on. August is a difficult month for us as a family, as it has two significant death anniversaries. Surrounded by the dust and parched landscape in 95-100+ degree heat, it’s easy to fall into a sort of seasonal depression. We’ve been stuck inside, waiting out the heat, trying not to wilt like the garden outside.

About a week ago, it was the one year anniversary of my uncle’s death. I am grateful that our church tradition has a place for the dead: prayers to say by the graveside, prayers for yearly memorials. There is a great comfort to it. The words of the prayers feel like old friends, embracing and supporting us when our own words fail us.

My garden is continuing to produce faster than I can keep up. I attempted canning some roasted tomato soup, but unfortunately it didn’t turn out. I wrestled with the pressure canner and lost: it fell below pressure, I had to restart the timer twice, the bands weren’t screwed on tight enough, and things overflowed. Ah well — next time! And we’ll have some not-shelf-stable soup for dinner this week.

I keep losing track of my zucchini and finding them much too late. I think the longest and largest I’ve grown so far is approximately 1.75 feet long and 5 inches in diameter. They’re much too woody for us to eat, so our chickens have been very happy with the zucchini surplus. Michael also enjoys hauling them around.

I’ve been reading more, and it’s been lovely to dive deep back into fiction after a brief time away. I forget how fiction can be a balm to the soul. It portrays truths in a deeper and more poignant way than I think non-fiction does. Tolkien says it better than I ever could in his essay On Fairy Stories. If you haven’t read it, I strongly encourage giving it a read. Here are two of my favorite quotes, to give you a taste:

Fantasy is a natural human activity. It certainly does not destroy or even insult Reason; and it does not either blunt the appetite for, nor obscure the perception of, scientific verity. On the contrary. The keener and the clearer is the reason, the better fantasy will it make.

On Fairy Stories

And probably my favorite quote of the entire essay:

The consolation of fairy-stories, the joy of the happy ending; or more correctly of the good catastrophe, the sudden joyous “turn” (for there is no true end to any fairy-tale): this joy, which is one of the things which fairy-stories can produce supremely well, is not essentially “escapist,” nor “fugitive.” In its fairy-tale — or otherworld — setting, it is a sudden and miraculous grace: never to be counted on to recur. It does not deny the existence of dyscatastrophe, of sorrow and failure: the possibility of these is necessary to the joy of deliverance; it denies (in the face of much evidence, if you will) universal final defeat and in so far is evangelium, giving a fleeting glimpse of Joy, Joy beyond the walls of the world, poignant as grief.

On Fairy Stories

Fiction in particular has been good for me this month. That fleeting glimpse of Joy beyond the walls of the world is definitely poignant as grief, and heals grief well.

I’ve recently finished Susanna Clarke’s Piranesi, which was beautiful and strange; magical and eerie. I’m still processing the mystical world building and the story’s twists and turns. I also reread Megan Whalen Turner’s The Thief: that book is such a fantastic romp, and the twist at the end always delights me. I’m currently reading the next in that series, The Queen of Attolia. If you like fantasy and political intrigue, with witty dialogue and plot twists, you’ll love these books.

I reread Sarah J Maas’s Crescent City books for fun, to prepare for the third book releasing in January. I enjoy her ability to write ensembles of fun, unique characters, though I have a bone to pick with some of her plot choices. Still, I enjoy the thrill and mystery as much as the next person, and her world building and romances are fun “fluff reads”.

I also read Roshani Chokshi’s The Last Tale of the Flower Bride, and Rebecca Yarros’ Fourth Wing. Chokshi’s prose is beautiful and moody and ethereal, but I must admit, I didn’t enjoy the story or the ending. Fourth Wing was fun and predictable, with dragons and an angsty enemies to lovers romance (one of my favorite tropes).

My making is still slow but I’ve continued to spin in the evenings. I enjoyed snapping this picture of me spinning in my handknit socks.

As for knitting, I’m determined to finish one of my many works in progress (WIPs) before I start another. I’m approximately 90% done with four different WIPs (a scarf, a hat, a cardigan, and a pair of socks), and I have to just buckle down and finish them. I hope next time I’ll have some finished objects to show off.

It’s still strange to think of where we were a year ago. Still not living in our house, unable to work on projects much due to the heat; reeling from unexpected death. It’s also strange to think of two years ago, just having moved from a life I loved, struggling with incessant morning sickness, weighed down by perinatal depression; saying goodbye to one of my dearest family friends and mentors.

But I look at the growth that’s happened over the past year and my heart lightens despite the memories of Augusts past: Michael’s continual growth, living in our own house, planting my first garden, my fiber skills improving, (learning how to spin my own yarn!) and so many other beautiful things.

This is a part of life I am still learning: the balance of grief and joy. Just like fairy stories, I do not deny the existence of dyscatastrophe, of sorrow and failure. I grieve; I remember them before God and ask that their memory be eternal. And it is good to grieve and remember. But I also am learning to look for the sudden and miraculous graces, the joys beyond the walls of this world. And that, too, is good.

I’ve been a little quieter on here lately, but I’m hoping to get back to a more regular posting schedule now. I ran into an issue: I maxed out my free disc storage for my WordPress site. I guess I like posting photos too much. I had the option to delete old posts or to upgrade to a paid plan, and I chose to upgrade. It took me a while to figure out exactly how to do that. So things might look a little different now: but to me, it’s worth the investment. I truly delight in making this humble chronicle of our lives. I hope you enjoy it too.

I’ve been continue to work on being more purposeful with my time. It seems to be my project of 2023: taking ownership of the minutes, hours, and days I’ve been given, and contemplating what it means to be a good steward of them.

Another way I’ve been looking at it is cutting back on my mindless consumption. I spent so much time consuming media, when really what I enjoy is making. I felt myself turning into Tantalus: always consuming, never satisfied.

And so, I took a step back. This has meant being on an Instagram hiatus (again), given my tendency to fall down the rabbit hole and not realize it until hours have passed. I now visit my Instagram only once every few days with a strict time limit, to check messages and see what my close friends are up to. But gone are the days of falling asleep to flashing screens.

And strangely enough, it’s been a relief. I’ve felt better, more focused; more rested. More myself. It’s hard to explain, and I feel like I’ve talked a lot about my complex relationship with social media lately. So I’ll just leave it at that, and an encouragement to try fasting from screens on a regular basis.

July has been passing at a breakneck pace. After our wonderful trip to the Midwest, Bishop John visited our church to celebrate the retirement of priest, Fr Stephen. It was a beautiful time celebrating a wonderful man and his selfless ministry. My in-laws came to stay with us a few days so they could also celebrate the retirement, and Michael loved having extra time with Oma and Opa.

Summer is definitely in full swing, so our outdoor time has been limited (much to Michael’s chagrin). I am not a fan of summer: I much prefer the chilly temperatures of autumn and winter. I miss my handknits! We had a scorching week of 100-110 degree weather, and thankfully now we’re back in the more reasonable 90s. My garden is soaking up the heat and producing faster than I can keep up. I have a bunch of tomatoes, and I’m on the hunt for a good canned tomato soup recipe to try to preserve some for winter. I was able to make a simple ratatouille with nearly all homegrown ingredients (except for the onion: mine aren’t quite ready for harvesting).

There’s something so satisfying about eating food you’ve grown yourself. I’m pretty proud of this little garden of mine: it’s my first attempt, and though I’ve got much to learn and have made many mistakes, I love my imperfect unpruned tomatoes, tiny peppers, and overgrown zucchini.

Because it’s summer, I’ve been focusing more on cooking and preserving the bounty before us. My current obsession is kombucha flavored with herbs from our garden and honey from our bees. So far, I’ve made a raspberry honey mint, a lavender, and a blueberry honey mint. The raspberry is my favorite.

Speaking of our bees, they’re doing very well! Our largest hive split and swarmed, and my dad managed to catch it before it left, so now we have three robust hives. We’re hoping to have quite the honey harvest this year.

The next big project for us is to finish the north side of our front garden. We need to finish clearing the weeds, put down some landscape fabric, and lay the mulch. It’ll give Michael a nicer, less dusty place to play, and it’ll also give us a nice place to grill this summer.

I’ve been continuing to knit and spin in my spare time — usually evenings and nap times. I’ve made a few skeins of 2 ply, DK/light worsted weight yarn. I’m looking forward to giving updates on the projects I plan to knit with them! I also finished one pair of socks and started on another. I’m leaning more into spinning right now, over knitting. With all that’s going on, I relax more into the mindless rhythm of spinning, and I don’t have to count or pay as much attention.

I’ve been reading more books, especially right before bed. On our recent trip to the Midwest I brought a copy of That Hideous Strength by CS Lewis and just finished it a few days ago. It’s a copy from 1970 that I picked up at our local used bookstore, and it smells fantastic. Anyone else feel like they could stick their nose in an old paperback and inhale forever?

I’ve finished three more books since, and I’m finally catching up on my Goodreads goal of 50 books this year. I missed reading. And reading has been nurturing my love of writing. I’ve been dipping back into writing fiction of my own, and it’s been beautiful and nostalgic and difficult.

I used to write fiction daily, seriously editing my work for submission and throwing my entire being into the craft. But since becoming a mother, my fiction writing has fallen to the side: shelved, but not thrown away. Writing fiction takes many of the same resources for me as nurturing a growing soul — and doing both at once wasn’t quite feasible for me. Slowly, I’ve been jotting down ideas and stories in tiny increments of time and words. And it’s strange to revisit a part of me that’s grown so dusty, that I loved so dearly. Strange to see how much I’ve changed. Strange, but also beautiful. I’ve reread some of my old work, remembering the person I was when I wrote it. I look forward to seeing the things I create as the person I am now.

I also credit my social media hiatus for my renewed love of reading and fiction writing. There’s are so many moments I used to brush off as “the meantime”. The moments after something important, and before the next important thing. I used to fill them with mindless scrolling, and even during my hiatus, I found myself looking only towards the next thing instead of being present in the meantime.

Now, I see them as opportunities to read another chapter of my book, or knit another row, or jot down another story idea. I’ve grown to cherish the meantime, instead of tolerating it. I’ve come to learn that meantime is fruitful, not fallow.

Over on my Substack, I wrote an essay on the importance of memorization. If you’d like to read it, you can find it here.

And here’s a quote to give a brief preview:

Often, we ask the wrong questions. We look for what a thing can do for us, instead of asking what it does to us.

It feels like June passed by in a minute while none of us were paying attention. I can hardly believe July is upon us and summer is in full swing.

Time has felt strange, like that goop that’s neither liquid nor solid. Some days feel eternal, because of their beauty or because of their difficulties. Some weeks feel like seconds.

It’s been a beautiful and bright few weeks. My great aunt moved into the mother-in-law suite that Jake and I lived in while we waited for our house to be finished. Another family member joins the commune! She’s always been like a grandmother to me, and we are so happy to have her here with us.

We had dear friends visit for a weekend, and it was a delight. I have very few pictures (which shows how much fun we had) but it was a beautiful time. Praise God for good food, good wine, and good conversation.

My garden has been soaking up the recent heat, and I’ve loved watching the whole process of growing things. I recently listened to a podcast by Tsh Oxenreider, and I can’t remember the exact quote, but she said something to the effect of: I garden because of the person it makes me, not merely for the practicality of growing food. And the more I garden, the more I agree with her.

This is another way time has felt strange this month: every morning I walked among my tomatoes and peppers and zucchini as I watered, yet I was always surprised to see bright red jewels among the leaves, or a ridiculously huge zucchini growing on the edge of the garden box.

It reminds me of watching Michael grow: I nourish and cherish him daily, yet still am surprised by how much he’s changed month by month.

My finger has been healing, slowly but surely. It’s been a process — the tip is still numb all around the wound/scar. For a good week, I wasn’t able to do any of my regular hobbies. I coped by reading a lot. However, I figured out a way to knit with my middle finger held out of the way, and was able to finish some projects that way.

We recently returned from a delightful trip in the Sequoia National Forest/Kings Canyon National Park. It was Michael’s first time camping, and he loved it. It was basically his dream vacation: being outside every minute of every day and playing with rocks and sticks and flowers and dirt.

Unfortunately, Jake couldn’t get the time off, so he took care of the homestead while my family, Michael, and I met up with dear friends. We spent four days talking, sitting around campfires, laughing, and enjoying the glorious creation all around us.

I think this national park and national forest is my favorite place in the entire world. I can’t find the words to describe the peace I feel in the chilled mountain air, surrounded by giant trees that have seen centuries pass, with the snow-capped peaks in the distance.

I feel like time moves differently there, too. Outside of the reach of technology and most of civilization, things are slower. Quieter.

For most of the trip, I didn’t have my phone on me and didn’t wear a watch. At first, I found myself starting to reach for my empty pocket, antsy or feeling phantom notifications. Then I finally started to relax. I stopped thinking about my email, or what I might be missing on the Internet. I guessed the passage of time by the sun and my body. I filled my time with knitting or reading or conversation or walks or naps. I woke up to and fell asleep with the sun.

How much has technology changed our perception of time? We’re so used to instant gratification: from being able to look up answers in the moment, to talking to people across the globe in seconds, to cooking on stoves and using flush toilets.

Camping in the mountains really these strips away and forces slowness and forethought. While not all technology is bad (I, for one, am quite grateful for showers) I do think we should be mindful that while it relieves us of inconvenience, it can also relieve us of virtues like patience and prudence.

So if there’s anything I want to hold near and dear to my heart from this month, it’s this appreciation of wild mountain time. I want it to permeate the rest of my life. I want my perception of life to be in rhythm with the natural world. To look for ways to cultivate patience by choosing to do things slowly and intentionally even if a quicker and easier way may exist. To focus less on the fleeting, instant gratification of notifications and more on the slowly ripening tomato on the vine, or the new tooth in my toddler’s grin, or the simple joy of a glass of wine with a friend.

June is our month of rest: we have no travel planned, and are staunchly attempting to have more restful weekends.

That being said, between our church obligations and the homestead, our days end up being quite full. We’re trying to take each day as it comes, and be intentional and thoughtful about our time. That has meant a lot of time handicrafting, and reading, and gardening.

I finished my Nightshift Shawl while traveling last weekend and I’m in love with it. I have wanted to make this pattern for years, and last Christmas my parents gifted me a kit for it. It’s made with special color-shifting yarn (Spincycle Yarns) and the mosaic (or slip stitch) color work technique, which causes the shifting rainbow effect.

For me, it’s a landmark in my knitting progress. I’m so proud of it. I’ve been wearing it on the porch in the mornings while Michael plays and I sip coffee.

I’ve been reading quite a bit during Michael’s naps and while he’s distracted with other things. I’ve never been able to stick with just one book: I often read several at a time and hop between them as my interest directs.

I’m currently halfway through The Unsettling Of America: Culture and Agriculture by Wendell Berry. It’s quite thought-provoking, and I have several different essay ideas that have sprung from some of his words. I’m sure we’ll see trends from Berry’s work in a lot of my upcoming posts: gardening, Creation, stewardship, technology, the Machine — there will be much to come, I’m sure.

I recently started a Substack (which you can find here, if you’d like to subscribe). I’m planning on using it to publish essays that don’t quite fit the theme of this blog. For this space, I’ll keep discussing faith and family and homesteading, and more. For the Substack, I’ll explore thoughts on things such as Orthodox-specific faith, feminism, education, consumerism, and more.

I’m also reading With All Her Mind, which is a series of essays by Catholic women on the intellectual life. It’s encouraging and beautiful, with essays by mothers and lawyers and nuns and professors. It reminds me that although I’m not in an academic space currently, my mind is not stagnant or going to waste.

For fiction, I’m still listening to Jayber Crow by Berry. It’s a quiet and profound story, and I love listening to the narrator’s soft drawl as I work at my spinning wheel.

My garden has started to produce! Now the great zucchini surplus has begun. I have two plants, and I’m sure I’ll regret planting two before the summer is over. For now, I’m enjoying the fresh produce.

My tomatoes (Early Girl variety) have begun to grow as well. I love checking on them as I water in the mornings. My three plants are a little too close together because I had limited bed space when I planted them, but they’re making the best of it.

My beets, sadly, did not survive for a variety of reasons: dogs, strange stormy weather, nutrient deficient soil, and probably many others. I’m doing more research for next time, and hoping for a hearty crop on my second round.

My parents’ beets, however, did very well. We blanched and froze them for soups in the winter.

Their potatoes also did really well! Michael was very excited to find some mini ones that were “Michael sized”.

There’s something incredibly satisfying about tending to a garden and watching what comes from all the dirt and weeding and watering and care. Every morning when I water, I watch the zucchini blossoms unfurl, and smell the spice of the tomato leaves, and see the bees nuzzle the lavender, and I am reminded that Paradise is indeed a garden.